Numb
by Jewels12
Summary: How do you numb your skin after the meltdown? L/L piece set during ‘The Incredible Shrinking Lorelais’.
1. Meltdown

_A/N: This story is dedicated to my great friend __**ILoveLukey**__. She won me in the second Support Stacie Auction – again, making my payment extremely overdue, but good things come to those who wait. Now, originally, this was going to be a holiday-themed story, but it has taken on many shapes and forms since then, and Lukey was kind enough to give me a lot of creative breathing room. Just a heads up: this isn't my traditional happy, quirky, Stars Hollow-y kind of story. I figured I'd push my boundaries a bit and try some angst. If you need a hug after reading, I'd be glad to oblige. Also, this story most definitely falls under the category of immoral, so if you're not a fan, now would be the time to stop reading. If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy!_

_**Mags**__, I shower you with my eternal kisses of gratitude for your invaluable comments and suggestions. Story time starts now…_

She never would have known that those nine simple words would change everything.

"_I was wondering if we could have dinner tonight."_

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Lorelai slumped into the desk chair and sighed, defeated, as she listened to Rory's voice on the answering machine. She hated missing her daughter, and hated even more that their relationship had become so reliant on phone calls – on _missed_ phone calls. She removed her coat, hanging it over the back of the chair, and picked up the receiver, swallowing the lump in her throat as she debated dialing the familiar number. Her eyes closed and she waited for the feeling to pass. The thought of having to leave another message on Rory's voicemail was enough to make her stomach churn. She returned the receiver to its cradle and leaned back, her eyes still closed, her mind wishing the world away.

Then she heard the sound of his feet scuffling across the floor.

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She told him that she'd thought about marriage, about _being_ married. And it wasn't an infrequent thought, as she had let on. When she listed all the things she desired in a partner – someone to pick up the slack; wait for the cable guy; make her coffee in the morning – she didn't disclose the fact that a vision of Luke instantly sprung to mind.

And when he draped his arm around her shoulder as they sat huddled together on the park bench, and his warm breath on her neck sent a chill through her tense, stress-riddled body, she cried. Over money, over pride, and over the man that got away.

------------

"I made you some coffee," Luke said quietly as he appeared in front of her with a mug of his finest remedy.

She stood up, meeting him halfway as she graciously accepted his offering with a smile. "Thank you." Her fingers gripped the smooth porcelain. "Hot," she said dully.

"Yeah, hot coffee."

Lorelai nodded. "Let's, uh…" she trailed off, nodding to the living room. She transferred her mug to her left hand, and gripped Luke's leather sleeve in her right, leading him to the couch. "You can take your jacket off," she told him as she dropped onto the middle cushion. Luke appeared to hesitate at the invitation and Lorelai rolled her eyes. "You don't have to hang it up. Just… put it on the coffee table. Then it'll be right close by when you're ready to split. I figure one more crying session should send you over the edge."

"Lorelai," Luke protested.

"It's okay, just a little breakdown humour." She patted the cushion next to her.

Luke sighed, stripping off his jacket and laying it flat on the coffee table. He sat next to her on the couch, turning his body to face hers. "I hate seeing you like this," he said stiffly, waiting for her reaction. She didn't react. "This isn't you."

"Well, the other me is on vacation. In Palm Beach. Remind her to thank Gran for letting her crash there."

"Can we talk about things?" he persisted, undeterred by her elusion. "I want to help you."

Lorelai bit her lip as she felt the tears burning behind her eyes again. "I shouldn't _need_ your help. I shouldn't _need_ _you_," she whispered.

"You don't –"

"But I always do," she sniffed. "I always do. And I hate that I do." A lone tear trickled down her cheek as she slid forward on her cushion, facing away from him.

He could tell from her body language that she wasn't finished speaking, so he waited patiently for her to continue.

"Why can't I do things? Why can't I handle things?" she cried in frustration, her hands curling into upturned claws. "Why can't I be independent?" She took a calming breath and continued in a softer tone, "I was,once upon a time, you know. And then you showed up, and I became this… this needy person. I mean, I'm just so reliant on you, Luke, for everything. How can you stand it?" Her eyes, moist with tears, now blazed into his, almost daring him to agree with her.

"You're not reliant on me, _at all_," Luke spoke firmly, and with a level of confidence Lorelai could only dream about in her fragile state. "You are the most self-sufficient and capable woman that I know."

"I'm not. Don't say that," she said helplessly.

"You're strong," he insisted.

"I'm pathetic," she fired back.

Luke gripped her arm, forcing her to look at him. "You know, you're not the first person who's ever needed help before. It's okay to struggle sometimes. You're carrying the lion's share of the workload, and you're running yourself into the ground." He released her arm, letting it down gently by her side, and continued sincerely, "It's no secret that it costs a fortune to make renovations, and to hire a contractor, and for them to actually stick to the projected timelines…"

"People do this everyday, Luke! It shouldn't _be_ this hard! Maybe someone with a lot more business sense could have handled it. That obviously isn't me."

"You _can_ handle it; you _are _handling it," he argued, trying to convince her. "But you need some help. There's no shame in that, Lorelai."

"Explain that to the Gilmores," Lorelai muttered as she fell back against the cushions with a sigh. Her stomach grumbled – a long, deep grumble. She turned to Luke and they both smiled. It was the one thing that confirmed to Luke without question that this was still Lorelai. This was the woman that he knew, and had known, for seven years, and not some deflated, insecure, whisper of her former self.

"You must be starving," Luke said, noticing his own appetite for the first time since meeting her outside the diner.

"Yeah, I'm kinda hungry… or a lot hungry," she realized as her stomach announced itself again.

He nodded knowingly. "Do you have any food here?"

She shrugged. "Not really."

Luke slid to the edge of the cushion and said, "I'll see what I can scrounge up," as he rose to his feet.

"Thank you," Lorelai whispered, following him with her eyes as he trudged into the kitchen for the second time that night. Her coffee sat untouched on the table in front of her, the liquid now tepid. She took a large gulp, sloshing the drink in her mouth before swallowing. She stood then, walking to the foot of the staircase. "I'm just gonna head upstairs for a minute," she called to Luke.

"No problem," Luke replied. "I'll need to perform a small miracle in the meantime," he grumbled quietly, thinking she was out of earshot.

A smile teased her lips as she climbed the stairs, anxious to change out of the brown, clingy dress that was currently suffocating her. As soon as she crossed the threshold to her bedroom, she tugged the dress off in one inelegant motion, and wrapped her arms around her shivering body. She came to a stop in front of her closet, staring intently at the contents. Luke was in her house. Luke had made her coffee, was _making_ her dinner. Or something that resembled it, she hoped. He'd sat next to her on a hard, wooden park bench, and held her close as she cried on his shoulder. It had seemed like hours. And here he was, continuing to take care of her, trying to pick up the pieces of her crumbling composure.

"My rock," Lorelai murmured, smoothing her hand over a snug v-neck sweater that was folded haphazardly on a shelf. "He's my rock." Her eyes remained focused on the sweater, but her hand strayed to the left, making the executive decision for comfort over fashion. "Stupid hand," she griped, removing a blue zip-up hoodie and a loose fitting pair of jeans from their hangers, and tossing the articles onto her bed. She quickly assembled herself, and covered up the tracks of her tears as best she could. Her hair was a lost cause. Emily was right; she was the epitome of the Bird Lady from _Mary Poppins_. "Sorry birds," she sighed wearily. "I don't have any tuppence to spare."

With one last solemn glance into the mirror, she exited her room and started the trek back downstairs, catching Luke's eye as he carried two plates of food into the living room and placed them on the table. "You cooked," she remarked, meeting him at the couch with a visible smile on her face.

"You changed," Luke returned, gesturing for her to sit. "And I wouldn't call this cooking," he continued. "More like assembling."

"It's all the same to me," Lorelai told him, dropping onto the couch and holding her hands out in front of her in blatant invitation for her plate.

He rolled his eyes and picked up the plates, distributing them accordingly, before sitting on the cushion next to her.

She examined her plate, then turned to Luke with a smirk. "So, sandwiches…"

"Only thing that was mildly edible in your kitchen," he said in his defence.

"Hey, I'm not knockin' it," Lorelai assured him. "I love sandwiches." She removed the top piece of bread to see what lay hidden inside, and her smile grew wider. "Especially peanut butter. Mmm, yummy."

"Just eat your sandwich," he growled, unable to hide his competing smile.

Lorelai took a healthy bite, chewing quietly and swallowing quickly to appease her hunger. "I like eating in the living room," she said after a long silence.

He nodded. "This felt like a living room meal."

"I totally agree," she said, reaching for the accompanying glass of milk on the table. She brought her lips to the rim and paused, turning to Luke. "Sure this is okay?"

"It expires in two days. Should be fine."

"No, that you're here. Is it okay that you're here, or do you need to go?"

"It's fine," Luke answered quickly. "I don't have a curfew tonight."

With a satisfied smile, she tilted her head back and took a fortifying swig. Then she wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve, and replaced her glass on the table, earning a chuckle from Luke.

"Feeling better?" he asked without hesitation, noting her seemingly improved demeanour.

Her frown was instant, as if his words had suddenly reminded her of everything that she was trying to forget. "I just can't get my grandmother's look out of my mind. That inherently Gilmore look of disappointment. I've felt the sting of that so many times in my life."

Luke's jaw flexed as he slid his empty plate onto the coffee table. "I can't believe that they wouldn't offer you any help. That's what family does."

"Oh, they're firm believers in _offering_ help," Lorelai explained. "But the fact that you needed help in the first place is the problem. That just doesn't happen. Gilmores don't fail."

"You're _not_ failing," Luke maintained, moving closer to her, needing her to understand him this time. He took the plate holding her half-eaten sandwich and deposited it on the table, turning her to face him as the tears started to fall.

"I am, Luke. I am failing." She swallowed hard, her lower lip trembling as she fought desperately to hold back the emotion that was threatening to erupt like a geyser.

He shook his head, shifting his position so he could reach into his pants pocket. "I won't let you fail," he told her firmly. Lorelai blinked in surprise at the brusque tone of his voice, watching as he retrieved a folded slip of paper and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "I know this isn't official, but it's real, and it's as official as I can be right now," he said, holding out the piece of paper in request for her to take it.

And the geyser was vanquished by an avalanche of guilt. She knew what was written on the pink Hello Kitty paper from the notepad on her fridge before she even read it. "A promissory note for thirty thousand dollars," she whispered in amazement.

"I'll write you a check first thing in the morning," Luke assured her.

"Luke, I –" she started, trying to return the paper to him.

He held up his hand in refusal. "Take it. Please. Let me do this."

She shook her head. "You can't do this."

"I thought you needed the money."

"I do," she sighed. "But we're right back where we started. Me taking from you. Me needing you. You're always giving; I'm always taking." Another tear fell and she broke apart. "God, stop crying," she berated herself.

Luke immediately closed the gap between them and wrapped her in a protective embrace. "Shh," he whispered soothingly as she rested her head on his chest, sniffling into the soft fibers of his charcoal-grey sweater.

"I'll never be able to thank you enough," she cried, her voice muffled by his solid body, cloaked around hers. "I'm so sorry that it had to come to this. That I had to ask you in the first place. That you feel obligated to help me."

Luke pulled back and clasped her chin, gently raising her face up to his. Her eyes widened at the gesture. "Lorelai, I _do_ feel obligated to help, because that's what friends do. You don't owe me anything for that." His hand drifted to her cheek, his knuckles brushing away her tears.

Lorelai licked her dry lips, her voice cracking nervously as she regurgitated her earlier sentiment, "You're always giving. I want to be able to do something for you, to give something to you, but I never know what you need." She gazed into his eyes intensely. "What do you need, Luke?"

He made the mistake of meeting her eyes. An entire palate of emotions reflected from within their depths. And as if summoned by their gravitational pull, he leaned towards her and covered her mouth with his own. It was so brief that her eyes never even had time to close, but her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. The second that the fog lifted, she recoiled, touching her lips like they'd just been singed.

Luke blinked furiously, completely ashamed and utterly baffled by his own actions. "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry." His chest was heaving as he stood up from the couch and began pacing in front of her. "I'm sor- I just… I can't believe –"

"It's okay," Lorelai interrupted. "That's not exactly what I meant by…"

"No, I know."

"But, it's okay. I mean… that was, uh… nice." She cringed. "Wow, I clearly don't know what to say in this kind of situation."

Luke stopped pacing and turned to her. "I'm just relieved that you didn't choose a more violent response."

"Yes, the Bette Davis approach would've left a mark," Lorelai mused, raising her eyebrows. Luke barely cracked a smile. "It's okay, Luke, we can laugh about it. We're both adults."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I just… I never meant to... do that. I only wanted to help." He shook his head. "God, I'm such an idiot. You're crying and upset, and I take advantage of you. I don't do this kind of thing," he appealed to her. "I'm not that guy. I'm so sorry."

"I know," she assured him quietly, reaching out to still his flailing limbs. "I'm not upset."

He nodded uncertainly before stooping in front of her to pick up the slip of paper that had fallen during the exchange. "Here," he said, opening his palm to her. "You dropped this."

"Thank you." Lorelai pressed her hand into his, and instead of taking the paper, she used her grip to propel herself upwards. They stood together, barely a foot of space separating them. With their hands still clasped, she said more sincerely this time, "Thank you." She relaxed her grip, ever so slightly, allowing the paper to slide through the space between her fingers and back to the floor. Then she looked into his eyes and took a step forward, holding her arms out to the side with a lopsided grin on her face. Luke acquiesced, stepping into her arms and smiling as they squeezed him like a vice grip.

Lorelai sighed into his shoulder, relishing the closeness. "We should hug more. I don't think we hug enough. I mean, friends hug, right?" She tilted her head, her warm breath tickling the fine hairs on his neck.

"Lorelai…" Luke said in warning.

"Just hugging," she explained quietly. She pushed her right cheek into his, and then scraped it along his stubbly jaw, her mouth coming into contact with the corner of his. And that's where it stayed, just drinking him in.

Luke stopped breathing for a moment, her oxygen the only thing making it past his lips. "Lorelai," he finally managed to gasp, "we can't do this."

"I know, but you started it," she whispered back, lifting her hand to his neck and teasing the curls that rested at the nape. He covered her hand with his, desperate to cease her ministrations, but that only spurred her on, and in a split second, her lips had a firm hold on his own. This kiss wasn't timid, or unintentional. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, biting it gently and releasing it with a pop. When her tongue soothed the afflicted skin, Luke moaned.

"This isn't a game," he told her earnestly, pulling away. She shook her head. "I can't…" Her thumb traced the curvature of his chin and his knees buckled. "People are affected by this," he choked out. She nodded, bringing that thumb to his mouth and gently pouting his lower lip with it. Lost in a haze of desire, he closed his lips around the invading digit and sucked it deeper into his mouth.

"You're not the only one, you know," she said through closed eyes, her face flushing as the warmth of her arousal sparked a flame through her body. "This affects me, too."

"So you're…" he asked leadingly.

"I'm seeing someone," she confirmed, pushing him onto the couch and moving to straddle him. Somehow, with that simple utterance, he felt less like a savage, and more like a partner in crime. And that, in his present, troubled mind, was a comforting thought. They kissed for seconds, minutes, unable to tear themselves apart. Their tongues found a rhythm that their pelvises soon followed. "You taste like peanut butter," she purred softly.

As she slipped her hands beneath the hem of his sweater, Luke forced through gritted teeth, "Why are we doing this?"

She pushed the fabric up his chest, kissing every inch of skin she exposed, before raising it over his head and tossing it to the floor. Lorelai compelled herself to keep moving – her hands, her lips. If they stopped moving, if _she _stopped moving, she was afraid of what might happen. What she might feel. What she might not feel. "Because nothing else makes sense right now. This is the only thing that I'm not questioning."

"Lorelai," he whispered, his smouldering gaze betraying his forbidding tone.

"I don't hate needing you, Luke," she told him softly, certainly. "I want to need you. I want you to need me."

"I do need you," he confessed, groaning audibly as she dragged the vulnerable flesh of his earlobe into her mouth and sucked on it greedily.

She raked her fingernails through the fine dusting of hair that shielded his chest, the skin still glistening from her wet kisses, and urged in a commanding voice, "Take me upstairs." When he made no motion of obeying her request, she brought her hand down to the fly of his dress pants. He covered her hand. "It's either here, or there, Luke. Your choice."

"I don't care," he hissed, struggling to control the hand that was now massaging his crotch.

"You do, Luke," she insisted. "You're the only one that cares." Lorelai slid from his lap and stood up, pulling him with her. She began walking backwards, taking large strides, leading him blindly to the staircase, then up, slowly. But she kept talking; they never stopped talking. Silence was a precarious thing. "I'm sorry about my hair," she apologized on the fifth step.

"What's wrong with it?" Luke asked, trailing behind her, as destitute of vision as she was.

"Really?" She shot him a dubious look. "You don't see a problem with it?" When he shook his head, she quickened her pace.

"I guess it's a bit longer than normal, if that's what you mean," he remarked on the ninth step.

Lorelai couldn't hide the grin that spread on her face. She yanked on his belt as they reached the landing, catapulting him into her bedroom. Her nimble fingers flew to the zipper of her sweater, and she swiftly discarded the prohibiting garment, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder. "I'll get it cut," she promised, stripping her t-shirt off in the same breath.

"Soft," Luke murmured, tangling his fingers in her hair as she once again captured his lips.

"Lee Ann gives a great scalp massage. Even better than Cindy," she whispered, molding her curves against his body and teasing his tongue relentlessly. When she started moving them towards her bed, she gasped in surprise as he finally took the initiative, casting the debris that covered the mattress aside, and guiding her into a horizontal position.

He unfastened the clasp of her bra with his teeth, while she adeptly removed his belt with one flick of her wrist. Their pants landed on the floor in sync. Once bereft of all clothing, they sought the protection of the comforter, cloaking themselves from the world.

It wasn't until his mouth touched her bare breast for the first time that she spoke again. "Where is Nicole tonight?" And the line was crossed; the unspoken agreement between them, shattered.

Luke was past the point of no return. Every breathy sigh and intoxicating moan drove him further away from reality. "Boston," he answered deliriously. "Where's…"

"Munich," she groaned, arching her back as he rasped his tongue over her nipple.

He scaled down the peaks and valleys of her body, kissing and nipping the tender flesh of her abdomen, her hipbones, and the inside of her thighs. His mouth floated over the hub of her sexual arsenal, blowing soft air on the hypersensitive nerves. She writhed impatiently beneath him.

"Jason won't sleep in the same bed as me," Lorelai panted as his tongue parted her folds. He plunged recklessly into her heat, swirling and dipping, swallowing every drop of moisture to be found.

Luke lifted his head only to respond with, "I don't think Nicole ever sleeps."

She smiled, raising her hips as he filled her again with his hungry mouth. "I believe that," she said in a lust-filled whisper.

"God, you're so wet," he murmured from between her legs. And there it was. Another line crossed. It was one thing to derive pleasure from the act, but voicing that pleasure in such a palpable way was out of the question. It should have triggered every alarm in her body, but it only served to heighten her arousal. All road blocks were down.

Lorelai felt herself melting, knowing that she was frighteningly close to orgasm. "Luke," she pleaded. "I need you inside me."

He didn't hesitate. He needed her just as badly. With a few strained motions, his lower body aligned with hers. Their eyes closed, intensifying the sensation as he slid slowly into her opening, joining them together, sealing their fate. They were imprisoned in their cocoon of immorality, with no intentions of breaking free.

She stroked his back in encouragement as he began surging into her with a rawness that couldn't be expressed, only felt.

"I've wanted you for so long," he groaned into her neck. She turned her head and kissed him firmly, silencing him from further disclosure.

The divine friction that their bodies created had them teetering on the edge within moments. Every pulsating pass made her ache for release, so she latched onto his lips even harder, using his mouth as her outlet. With one final effort, he hit the deepest part of her being, lingering until he could feel her breaking apart, her walls clenching and trembling from the impact. He lost himself in her kiss, reaching his peak and rocking them gently into a tranquil state.

Not a word was said as he collapsed into her arms, and she ran her hands up and down his spine. When she curled onto her side, he instinctively folded himself around her, pulling her against him. And when she closed her eyes, somehow she knew that he had too. He slept soundly, his soft snores filling the night, and she lay awake, wondering how the warmth of his body could leave her feeling so numb.

_I was wondering if we could have dinner tonight._

She never would have known that those nine simple words would change everything.

TBC...


	2. Breakdown

_A/N: No, your eyes have not deceived you. I decided to continue this story, partly due to the encouragement from you kind folks, and partly due to my own insatiable need to delve further into immorality. It's a sickness, I tell ya. Many thanks to you all for sticking with me, and many, many thanks to __**Mags**__ for giving me an entire feast for thought. Your encouragement, advice, and suggestions are extremely appreciated. _

_Just a quick note, before we continue: The fourth Support Stacie Author Auction is fast approaching (Sept. 11-14)__._ _I will be on the auction block, yet again, so if you'd like me to be your slave of fiction, be there, or be square. Now then, on with the show..._

He woke up alone, believing he was caught in the haze of a dream. The thick, winter sheets splayed lazily over his body, and he squinted his eyes as the sun poured in through the gauzy curtains. He could tell it was early without even glancing at the kitschy alarm clock to his right, the clock that was so Lorelai – everything about it, from the flashing lights and buttons, to the freakishly pink hue. His sleepy eyes traced the outline of every bizarre and ornate decoration that lined the room, bringing him further away from reverie, and closer to reality. This wasn't a dream.

It was early, and she was gone. There was no sign of life. No note, even the debris that had littered the floor the previous night had been cleaned up. The debris he'd carelessly tossed from the bed in his haste to have her, to touch her skin, to brand her as his own. The sheets on her side of the bed had been smoothed and tucked in, as if they had never been slept in. He felt a sharp pain in his gut as he became fully cognizant of what was happening.

Luke swept the covers aside and gathered the strength to stand. If he was lucky, he could get to the diner before too many people started asking questions.

He could still smell her on his skin. For a brief moment, he considered taking a shower, but he felt more like an intruder than a guest – a wanted guest, so a shower was out of the question.

After slipping into his boxers, jeans and boots, Luke made his way downstairs, locating his sweater folded neatly on the couch. He sighed as he shrugged into the warm wool, remembering the feel of her eager hands on his chest. As his eyes further scanned the room, he swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. Everything was in its place, every remnant of the night, expunged. The dishes were washed and put away; his leather jacket was hanging on the coat rack in the foyer. He felt invisible. And then he saw it, peaking out from beneath the couch; a familiar piece of paper. A promissory note. Bending down on one knee, he grabbed the offending object and ripped it to shreds, letting the scraps fall where they may.

His nostrils flared with pent up anger as he stomped toward the foyer, tossed his jacket over his shoulder, and shoved his entire body against the door, causing it to snap open and slam closed again. It was a nice counteract to the silence. Luke was past the point of actually caring if anyone noticed his presence. She sure as hell didn't.

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Lorelai sat restlessly on the chair in her partially-constructed office. There wasn't a desk; the walls were begging to be painted. It was a shell. And she was hiding in it. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that Luke would be awake by now. His quiet confession from the night before was on loop in her head.

_I've wanted you for so long._

Her eyes popped open again, her heart pounding as she realized the other reason for the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The one thing she'd forgotten to claim in her haste to escape from her own home.

"Shit," she hissed, leaping to her feet, pacing the room in a fit of panic. "Oh God." She swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to vomit. "Please don't find the note, please don't find the note, please don't find the note," she chanted helplessly, collapsing once again into her chair, holding her head in her hands.

With her eyes peaking between her fingers, she noticed her purse on the floor by her feet. She fished her cell phone out, heaving a sigh as she punched in the familiar numbers.

"Sook," Lorelai practically whispered, "I'm so sorry for calling you so early, and I know we're not on the best of terms right now, but I just… can you please come to the inn? I really need to talk to you right now, you know, face to face. This isn't about the inn, this isn't business. This is me asking you as my best friend to help talk me off the ledge I'm currently standing on…" Before Lorelai could even finish her train of thought, Sookie promised her she'd be there in twenty minutes, with chocolate and coffee to boot.

Lorelai pictured the minutes ticking by on her invisible clock. She thought about calling Rory, but she was too ashamed to talk to the one person who could always detect it.

"God, I needed you last night, kid," Lorelai choked out. "I needed you so badly."

_I want to need you. I want you to need me_, her own voice taunted her. "Oh, shut up," she groaned, slapping her palm to her forehead. Her self-destruction was thankfully disrupted by the sound of Sookie's less than graceful entrance into the inn, accompanied by several crashes, a thud and a quiet giggle.

Sookie huffed out of breath as she entered Lorelai's door-less office, two bags tucked tightly under her arms.

"Where's the herd of buffalo that you came in with?" Lorelai teased.

"I ran into the table saw," Sookie explained, "so I used the ladder to balance, but then it slid, so I jumped…" she trailed off hopelessly. "Chocolate?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows enticingly.

Lorelai nodded. "Please."

She peered into her bag of goodies. "I've got Belgian, Swiss, German, Dutch, and good ol' American."

"Hit me with the Dutch."

Sookie obliged, passing the goods to Lorelai and taking a seat on the chair opposite her. "Niets te danken."

"I beg your pardon," Lorelai said with a startled grin.

"Means you're welcome." Sookie gently placed the bags on the floor beside her. "Jackson taught me. His grandmother was Dutch."

"Interesting," Lorelai mused as she nibbled on a chunk of milk chocolate therapy. "How's the little guy? I hope I didn't wake him when I called earlier."

"He was already awake. I swear, that boy is on his Jackson's schedule. He's gonna be a farmer, just like his daddy."

Lorelai smiled. "That's sweet." She watched as Sookie wet her lips anxiously, and bit into a piece of dark Belgian chocolate. "You know what else would be sweet?" Lorelai asked, hopeful.

Sookie took her cue, unearthing two to-go cups of coffee from the diner, and handing one to her caffeine-obsessed friend.

Lorelai's face immediately fell. "This is Luke's coffee."

"It sure is," Sookie chimed.

"I can't drink that."

"But you love Luke's coffee," she reasoned.

"Yes, I do love Luke's coffee," Lorelai agreed. "And on any other day, this would be a very appropriate and acceptable beverage choice… but not on the day after I slept with the man."

"What?" Sookie gasped, abandoning her chair and her coffee cup in the same moment. "Luke?" she demanded. "You slept with Luke?"

Lorelai shrugged, her face taking on a deep crimson hue. "Well, it wasn't Juan Valdez."

"Oh my God! What about… Where is… How did you…" Sookie stopped spouting out questions when Lorelai held her hands up in a desperate plea for silence.

"I kind of had a meltdown last night," Lorelai disclosed, gesturing for Sookie to return to her seat. "Everything came to a boiling point yesterday, and I just… I lost it. I made plans with Luke to have a business dinner." Sookie nodded anxiously. "Well, I met him in the square after experiencing the most demoralizing afternoon with my parents and my grandmother, and I was just zapped. I couldn't handle it anymore. I broke down, and he comforted me, the way he always does."

"Did you go back to the diner?" Sookie asked, sliding to the edge of her chair.

"He walked me home to my place," Lorelai recalled, lowering her eyes to the floor. "We talked, and he made sandwiches, and for the first time in weeks, I felt strong again. I felt like I could really do it… I could see our dream coming true."

"Oh, Lorelai," Sookie whispered, her own eyes filling with tears.

"And then he gave me a promissory note for thirty thousand dollars." Sookie held her breath, waiting for Lorelai to continue. "Oh God, I screwed up so badly, Sook. It's all my fault."

She shook her head determinedly. "It takes two to tango."

"That may be true, but I left the dance floor; Luke didn't."

"You were dancing?" Sookie asked, knitting her eyebrows in confusion. "When were you dancing? Oh, did you go to that new nightclub in Woodbridge? I heard it was fabulous."

"Sookie, I was figuratively speaking," Lorelai said, her lips curving into a smile.

"Oh, right, sorry. Go on."

Lorelai took a gulp of coffee, just needing to feel connected to some part of him again. "Jason's in Munich," she muttered. "Nicole's in Boston." She chuckled morosely. "It was perfect, Sookie. The perfect crime."

"But maybe it isn't a crime if it's right," Sookie interjected. "Didn't it feel right? You, and Luke?" she wheedled, trying to find something constructive to cling to amidst the uncertainty.

Lorelai sighed. "We cheated, Sookie. I was cheating, and he was cheating, and it doesn't matter if it felt right. It was wrong, so wrong."

Sookie took another healthy mouthful of chocolate as she pondered the situation. Her mind wrestled with the topic of morality. She was a married woman; she believed wholeheartedly in the sanctity of marriage. But she couldn't erase the damage that had been done, and right now, she felt that the greatest service she could provide for her friend was a shoulder for support. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Lorelai shrugged. "I guess the first thing I need to do is talk to Jason. Breaking up over the phone isn't an option, right?" she asked rhetorically.

"You're breaking up with him?" Another piece of chocolate found its way onto Sookie's awaiting tongue.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I never really saw myself with him for the long haul, and this thing with Luke… I think… I want…"

Her chocolate long forgotten, Sookie finished the thought for her, "You want to be with him. A married man," she added with intent, using this as her first and last opportunity to be blatant about the seemingly insurmountable obstacle.

Lorelai took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she allowed the vision of her and Luke in a relationship to invade her mind completely. A vision that she'd imagined more times than she could count, over the years. "Yes," she concluded softly. "I want to be with Luke."

-------

Luke skilfully avoided plowing into Caesar for the sixth time that morning. The townies were finally, slowly filtering out of the diner, the bells above the door, punctuating their exits, and contributing to Luke's burgeoning headache.

"Caesar," Luke called gruffly, as he dropped his rag onto the counter, "think you can handle things from here?"

"Sure, Boss," Caesar replied, poking his head through the service window like a groundhog through dirt, and giving Luke a mild heart attack in the process.

"Jeez," he muttered. Caesar sported a broad grin, showcasing his dimples, and Luke rolled his eyes. "Can you… retreat, please? You're freaking me out."

Caesar nodded, and obediently pulled back, his grin spreading even wider.

"Thank you," Luke said, still shaken. "I'm going upstairs for a while. Holler if you need me." Caesar nodded again, chuckling to himself as Luke disappeared from sight.

Once Luke was in the silence of his sanctuary, a wave of guilt the size of a tsunami crashed over him. It wasn't the sex. It wasn't the deception. He felt tremendous remorse over leaving a paper trail of his raging temper. Without another thought, he called the bank and requested a certified check.

Thirty thousand dollars: the going rate for ruining a friendship and a marriage.

Jacket in hand, he stepped quietly out of his apartment and down the stairs, exiting through the back door. A bitter blast of wind caught him by surprise, and he slid his arms anxiously through the sleeves of his only barrier of protection, rubbing the palms of his gloveless hands together as he climbed into his truck and headed for Woodbridge.

After finishing his business at the bank, he returned his truck to the alleyway beside the diner, stuffing the check safely in his pocket, and electing to walk to his next destination. He navigated his way through the trees and bushes that obstructed the less-travelled trail.

In the clearing ahead, he could see her house, staring down at him, almost challengingly. It was then that he realized he'd forgotten to lock the door that morning after he'd left. Not a big deal, in the scheme of things, considering Lorelai rarely locked it herself. But this was different. He was different. He'd spent years of his life instinctively protecting her, caring for her and providing for her. How could one night change everything?

Luke walked up the porch steps and paused, dreading for a moment that she might be inside. Her Jeep still wasn't in the driveway, so he took that as a good indication that she was a safe distance away, and entered her home. He wasted no time in locating the torn up pieces of paper beneath the couch, and disposing of them. The check landed squarely in the centre of the kitchen table, still seemingly warm from the printer, or perhaps, from the heat of his hands. He took a moment to examine it, and frowned. It looked so exposed, lying face up, with no envelope to hide it from view. That amount of money required more formality, he knew. He had an industrial-sized box of envelopes at his disposal in the diner. And yet, here he was, rooting around Lorelai's kitchen, hoping to spot a stray envelope in the stack of loose papers and magazines that rested on the end of the counter. After several fruitless minutes, his search led him to the living room, and shortly thereafter, upstairs.

That's when he heard the sound of an engine outside, and his heart sank.

"Shit," he whispered, debating whether he had enough time to slip through the back door, unnoticed. But there was no way in hell that he could hurtle his large frame down those steps – in his heavy boots, no less – before Lorelai entered. Old Butch Danes couldn't have pulled it off, even in his prime. His chest heaved as he paced nervously on the landing, wringing his hands, trying desperately to remain calm. There was nothing he could do. Jesus. He had to hide.

The front door flew open, and Lorelai blew out a breath as she moved quickly into the foyer, finding solace in her shelter from the cold.

She blinked in surprise as the warm air filled her lungs. God, she could smell him.

Her feet kept moving as she shrugged out of her coat, and draped it over the arm of the couch. Upon first inspection, there was no sign of the note. She squatted down, feeling all around the base of the couch and beneath it, as far as her hands could reach. "Where the hell is it?" she growled in frustration.

Rising to her full height again, she used the entire force of her weight to push the couch a few inches, grunting in exertion. "When did you get so heavy?" she cried out.

After struggling for several more seconds, resulting in another three inches of movement, she sighed in defeat. "There better be a truckload of change inside of you, otherwise, you're going on a diet, Chester," she threatened the inanimate object.

Releasing a loud yawn, Lorelai dragged her emotionally-drained body to the staircase, and lethargically climbed each step, using the banister for support. When she entered her room, she retrieved her bathrobe and slippers, shedding her thrown-together wardrobe and gently wrapping the cozy terrycloth around her torso. She hadn't showered that morning because she was afraid of waking him. Now, the only thing she could think of was the soothing warm water of a bath.

Her slippered feet padded across the hall, into the bathroom.

"Oh God!" she shrieked. Luke was sitting on the outer edge of the tub, his hands held up in surrender. "What are you doing here?" Lorelai demanded, holding her hand over her pounding heart.

"I didn't think you'd be here," Luke tried to explain, coming to a standing position.

"So that makes it okay?" she bit back. "God, you gave me a friggin heart attack." As he walked closer to her, she became increasingly aware of her attire, or lack thereof, and moved steadily away from him, until her back hit the wall.

"I brought you a check."

"I think you should go," Lorelai uttered in unison. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "What did you say?"

Luke swallowed hard. "Uh, here," he said, reaching into his pocket and revealing the proof of his statement.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she stared at him. "And you were going to… give it a bath?"

"Huh?"

"What are you doing in my bathroom, Luke?" she rephrased.

"Uh… well, I, uh… I was looking for an envelope, and then I heard the front door open, so I…"

"You're hiding?" she asked knowingly, her lips curving into a tight smile.

He nodded bashfully, lowering his eyes to his outstretched hand. "Don't you want this?" he asked, referring to the check that he held.

Lorelai closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "We're not doing this here," she told him. "We are not having an official transaction in my bathroom."

The tone of her voice immediately put Luke on the defensive. "So it's only official now that the numbers are on a certified check?"

"What?" Lorelai said, taken aback.

"The promissory note can lie on the floor and rot, for all you care, but now that you've got it in 'official' writing, you're good to go!"

"Luke, that's not-"

He closed the gap between them, dropping the check carelessly to the floor. "I found the note earlier this morning," he began.

She felt herself moving away from the wall and into the open doorway to escape from his penetrating gaze. "Okay-"

"And I tore it to shreds!"

"Can you just stop yelling at me for a second?" she pleaded with him, fists at her sides.

"You left!" Luke shouted, bringing the conversation and her breathing to an abrupt halt. "You left," he repeated a moment later, his voice breaking.

Lorelai nodded, his words finally hitting home. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. She turned from him and crossed the hallway to her bedroom, with Luke in close pursuit.

"You feel guilty," Luke said as she circled to the other side of the bed, putting as much space between them as possible.

"Yes, I feel guilty. Of course I feel guilty, okay?" she choked out, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "Don't _you_?" When he failed to respond, she said, "For God's sake, Luke, you're married!"

"And this is the first time you've actually acknowledged that fact," Luke angrily retorted.

"Oh, stop."

He stomped toward her. "You didn't seem to care last night!" he pointed out. "You've never accepted it, until now."

"Have _you_ accepted it?" Lorelai asked, turning the tables on him. "Have you ever really been in that marriage, Luke, or are you just not man enough to get out, to admit that you made a mistake?"

Luke stopped a few feet in front of her, rearing up to his full height, his jaw flexed determinedly. She held her breath, worried that she'd pushed him too far. Then he looked deep into her eyes, his expression filled with so much sorrow and uncertainty that it broke her heart. "Do you know how long I've waited for you?" he asked, purposely tightening his mouth to keep his lips from trembling.

"Luke," she whispered. Her hand, of its own volition, reached for him.

He rubbed the whiskers on his face, as he allowed her to steadily pull him forward. "I don't want to associate anything negative with last night, whether it was wrong or not," he spoke into her neck, as she cradled him to her body, her back supported by the wall.

"I know," Lorelai soothed, running her hands along his shoulders and down his spine, relishing the feel of him, pressed against her again.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Luke told her softly, raising his head to meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry I left," she responded, trailing her fingers down his cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. His warm breath made her pulse quicken, clouding her mind, and before she knew it, the tie of her robe was undone.

"I want you. Always want you," he murmured, his hands disappearing under her robe and making contact with bare skin.

"Oh God," she hummed, her body craving his touch.

When his palm closed around her right breast, her knees weakened, and he used his pelvis to help keep her upright, the gentle grinding having a maddening effect on her hyper-sensitive body. She moaned.

Her head was spinning, her every inhibition abandoning her under Luke's ministrations.

"I haven't showered yet today," Luke whispered in apology, as his diligent hands removed her robe completely, watching as it cascaded down her body, revealing her supple curves.

"You interrupted mine," Lorelai replied, switching positions with him, becoming bolder in her exposed state. Her hands grazed his flannel shirt. Even with Luke helping, the process of sliding each button through its hole was agonizingly slow. Lorelai left him to the task, her eyes now trained on the bulge in his jeans. With the flick of her wrist, he felt instant relief, watching in amazement as she freed him from his constraints. He stepped out of his pants and boxers, while Lorelai removed his flannel and undershirt in one fluid motion.

Luke surged forward, and Lorelai backward. Their bodies met somewhere in the middle, joining together as if by memory, still stained by their previous lovemaking. Luke kissed her then, his tongue plunging into her mouth. She used his neck as a brace, her tongue meeting his, stroke for stroke, teasing and tasting. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth. She dragged her nails down his back. Their mouths separated and their eyes met.

"Make love to me," Lorelai whispered.

She gasped as his hands flew under her knees, and she toppled to the mattress, his masculine form cloaking her like a sheet.

The morning sun hid behind the clouds as the sound of their breathing filled the room.

_TBC…_


	3. Slowdown

_A/N: A million apologies for the tardiness of this chapter. Believe me, I've been working on it forever. I am just one of those easily distracted types. Plus, this story is a bit bigger than I expected, so I had to prepare myself accordingly. And who better to help gear me up than __**Mags**__? My point exactly. This chapter and the last two are so much better thanks to her brilliance. Twelve thousand hugs for you, my bestest immoral smut buddy. ;) Anyway, enough rambling. On with the show!_

With her robe tightly secured again, and the man out of the house, Lorelai stalked toward the bathroom. Her eyes fell to the check on the floor. Another piece of paper abandoned in the heat of her desire for this man - this married man. She knelt down and held the check in her hand for the first time, stunned by the weightlessness of it. How could something that had her entire future resting on it feel so light?

She rose to her feet and closed her eyes, pressing the check tightly to her chest with a satisfied hum. "We have an inn to finish building," she whispered in a voice filled with wonder. Her eyes popped open again when she heard the hall clock chiming in the twelfth hour.

After safely stowing the check in the pocket of her robe, she discarded the terrycloth and hung it over the hook on the back of the door, opting to take a shower instead of a bath to save time.

-------

A steady torrent of water pounded against Luke's head, trickling down his shoulders, his chest, and trailing down his thighs. The rising steam shrouded the bathroom in a thick fog as visions of Lorelai swept through his mind.

He remembered the weight of her body pressing into his, and his palm clutched the soap harder, scraping it along his sensitized flesh. Behind his closed eyelids, she straddled him, rubbing the tips of her breasts against his chest, her tongue dipping into the hollow at the base of his neck. He let his head fall back, arching his neck as the water hit that same spot, releasing a quiet groan at the resulting friction.

-------

Lorelai massaged the tangerine-scented shampoo into her scalp, picturing Luke's long, nimble fingers tangling in her curls, and remembering the puffs of air that escaped from his lips when those same fingers danced through the coarser hair at the apex of her legs.

A thin streak of shampoo slid down between her breasts, and she squeezed her eyes shut, feasting on the image of Luke's tongue following the same pattern, taking her heaving flesh into his mouth, showing her no mercy. The soapy water pooled at her feet, and her toes tingled with the memory of every thrust that rocked their joined bodies.

-------

The water chilled; Luke's eyes snapped open as he felt his blood heat rather than cool. He could feel the velvety texture of her lips against his own, the strangely familiar rasp of their tongues as they tangled in a desperate struggle for control. His fingers tightened into a fist, crushing the bar of soap. It fell lifelessly to the floor in a dozen pieces.

Reaching out to steady himself against the cool tile wall, he smiled arrogantly, reliving the sensation of her heels digging into his calves as she climaxed, loud and long and hard. The now frigid water clung to the matted hair on his chest. Luke lowered his head and trembled, whispering raggedly through his parted lips, "This has to stop."

-------

Lorelai rinsed the soap suds from her skin, inhaling deeply when her fingertips slid over her hipbones, her eyes finally opening and then widening in recognition of Luke's devout affection on that precise area of her body. Her stomach muscles clenched; she curled her hands into claws, trying to calm the intense memory of him pulsing inside her, filling her.

She moaned in relief when the water turned cold. Ducking her head under the spray, she let the water flow down her spine. Her hair flopped forward, the ends of it tickling her shivering lips as she stared at her foggy reflection in the glass.

"This has to stop."

-------

With a towel wrapped around his midsection, Luke walked briskly through his apartment, his still-wet feet leaving an imprint on the wooden floors. He snatched the phone on its third ring, barking a gruff, "Hello?" into the receiver.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" a high-pitched voice responded archly.

"Nicole," Luke uttered, a deep flush instantly colouring his cheeks. "Uh, no, no, this is a fine, uh … great time. Um, how are you?" he stammered. He dropped down onto the edge of his bed, his knee bouncing wildly.

"I tried you downstairs first, but Caesar said that you've been in your apartment for the last few hours. Are you feeling okay?" she asked, her voice softening with concern.

He swallowed hard and pressed down on his knee to stop it from shaking as he struggled to control his breathing. "Yeah," he choked out. "Just had some things to take care of, you know ... Diner was pretty slow, anyway."

"I see," Nicole said easily. "Well, Boston is a bit chilly this afternoon– "

"When are you coming back?" Luke blurted, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of his own panic-filled voice.

To his relief, Nicole chuckled. "You miss me already?" she said flirtatiously.

"Yeah, just … feels pretty quiet around here," he said gruffly as his knee began to bounce again.

"That's actually why I called," she told him anxiously. "The trip has been cut short and I'll be coming home tomorrow night."

His knee stopped jerking; his entire form sagged in defeat as the words left her mouth. "That's, uh … that's really great, Nicole," he said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as he could.

"Hope you don't have any plans Friday night," she teased.

"Nope. I'm all yours." Even though it pained him to say it, it was true. It had to be true, at least until he could tell her to her face why it shouldn't remain true.

"Perfect. See you then. Bye, Luke,"

"Bye, Nicole." As he disconnected, he wondered if Nicole could hear the same finality in his statement. Luke stood up on wobbly legs, returning the phone to its cradle. He ran a hand through his damp hair then across his freshly shaven chin, contemplating the best course of action. It was shortly after 1 pm; two hours ago he'd been tangled up in bed sheets with another woman. Two minutes ago he was on the phone with his wife. Life was funny that way. He needed to talk to Lorelai, to figure things out. Whether that was a safe decision was another matter. Luke assumed that she'd returned to inn, so he decided that he'd pay her a visit later. In the meantime, he hoped that Caesar would forgive him for leaving him in the lurch during lunch rush.

-------

Lorelai sat quietly in her makeshift office at the Dragonfly, her laptop propped on her thighs as she tapped the keys frantically.

"_You do realize that our relationship has become web-based," _she typed.

"_It's the wave of the future," _was Rory's response.

"_You still sick?"_

"_Feeling better. Just a cold."_

"_Well, it's not 'just' a cold unless Mommy can verify. Hence the need for face-to-face communication."_

Lorelai readjusted her position, cringing when she felt a crick in her neck. She needed a desk. She needed to call the necessary people and give them the necessary incentive in order to make that desk become a reality. The incentive was a folded piece of paper in the right pocket of her jeans. Several times her hand had dipped into that pocket wanting nothing more than to invest every last dime in the Dragonfly. Her heart wouldn't allow it, though, not until she could figure out where she and Luke stood. Money between friends was one thing. Money between lovers….

"_Mom, you still there?"_

"_Sorry, kid. Still here._ _Come home. Let me feed you soup." _

"_I'm kind of off soup right now. The last bowl I ate tasted like socks."_

"_Okay then, no soup for you." _She couldn't help but crack a smile at her own joke.

"_How are you doing?"_

Lorelai sighed, and her smile faded. _"I'm fine. Nothing much to report."_

"_Well, you're building an inn, aren't you?"_

"_Yep, with my bare hands. I'm my own personal Jesus."_

She closed her eyes, feeling Luke's bare hands on her skin, kneading and soothing her aching flesh. They needed to talk, but clearly the only productive way of doing that was for one or both of them to be wearing a full suit of armour. For now, she'd try to put all thoughts of Luke aside and soak up every minute she could of the person who meant the most to her in the world. The one person she never wanted to disappoint.

-------

There was no pre-discussion. Luke decided of his own volition to knock on Lorelai's door that night. If she was surprised to see him, she didn't let it show, although the lack of stubble on his face held her attention for longer than was appropriate for someone who was trying to refrain from starting something.

She raised one eyebrow at him. "Back for more?"

Luke stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Sorry," Lorelai said, smiling nervously. "Come in."

He barely put one foot through the door before he turned to her and spoke seriously, "Lorelai, this isn't a joke."

"I said I was sorry," she muttered, her face flushing. "You don't even know what I was referring to. I could have been referring to … uh … communication," she continued, using her hands to gesture between them. "Back for more communication, Luke? Did you want–"

"Nicole called me today."

That statement hit her like a ton of bricks, draining all colour from her face. "What?"

Luke's boot-clad feet stomped heavily on the floor as he paced his way to the living room with Lorelai hot on his heels. He didn't need to repeat himself. The expression on her face indicated that she'd heard every word. "She told me she's coming back tomorrow night."

Lorelai swallowed hard. She studied his features, wondering what he could possibly be thinking, and worrying that it was frighteningly similar to the thoughts that were currently assaulting her mind.

He collapsed onto the couch, suddenly feeling too unstable to stand. Holding his head in his hands, Luke said in a hoarse voice, "What am I supposed to do here?"

Instantly sympathetic, she sat on the coffee table in front of him, clasping her hands between her knees. They both knew that he had more to lose here. He was the married one; happily or not, a vow was a vow.

"I've never been in this position before," he continued softly, raising his chin to look her in the eyes.

She leaned away from him defensively. "And I have?"

Luke frowned. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," she said, sighing. Her eyes fell to his chest, watching the steady rise and fall. They travelled north, following the path of his neck, his jaw, his cheeks - his _smooth_ cheeks. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

"I need you to know that…." Luke's voice broke through her reverie. "…I don't want this to be it. I want more." Her breath hitched. "But I think the best thing for both of us is to stay apart until we can figure things out, and do what we have to do."

Lorelai's eyes found his lips, his full pink lips. "Stay apart," she repeated.

"When is Jason coming back?" Luke asked.

"He is back," she answered, still in a trance.

Luke released a short chuckle. "You're joking, right?" When she merely shrugged in response, his jaw dropped in disbelief.

"He got home this afternoon," she said quietly, rising to her feet and walking toward the staircase.

"H-have you seen him?" Luke called after her, his head spinning. A part of him was hoping that she had, wishing that she could provide some insight into this situation. But the other, stronger part of him felt his chest constricting at the thought of her being near another man, even one she was in a legitimate relationship with.

"Not yet. He said that he had a severe case of jetlag, so I promised I'd call later." Her right foot hit the bottom step.

He was behind her before her left foot could join it.

Lorelai closed her eyes as she heard his boot on the wooden stair. "You should go, Luke," she breathed. She was trying very hard to get away from him. The longer they stayed in the same room, the greater the temptation.

"Don't you think it's a big deal that he's back?"

"What do you want me to do?" she demanded, now facing him. "Blow up some balloons?"

He rolled his eyes, his arms flapping out to his sides in exasperation. "We need to strategize here! We need to figure out what to do - what to say!" He took a deep breath and said in a quieter voice, "I was hoping that we could do that together."

The look in his eyes was a look she'd come to recognize: fear, uncertainty, lust - all mixed together in one deadly cocktail. "You do it your way, and I'll do it mine," she concluded, turning once again to the staircase.

"So that's how it's gonna be?" He reached for her, desperate to stop her. The heat from his hand coming in contact with the cool skin of her exposed midriff caused them both to gasp.

"You should go," she said again, barely fighting as he gently, but firmly pulled her back to the ground floor.

Luke tilted his head to the side and whispered urgently into her ear, "You don't want me to go." The hand on her hip began drifting lower.

Perhaps it was the way his body molded to hers that had her resolve dwindling faster than an alcoholic's on New Year's Eve. Or maybe it was a silent understanding between them that this could possibly be the last chance they had to be intimate with one another - for a while, at least.

When his lips touched her neck, she moaned softly. "I can't be around you right now."

His tongue circled around her pulse; his hand slipped even lower.

"You shouldn't stay. I shouldn't want you to stay," Lorelai panted.

Her back pressed to his front as his fingers opened the button on her jeans, slowly dragging the zipper down. She felt a rush of cool air on her skin. She stopped feeling when Luke's hand slipped inside her panties. She stopped breathing. Her body was numb with anticipation.

He slid a finger into her wetness, sending a shockwave of sensation through her. A second finger joined in, then a third, and it was all she could do to keep standing. The harder she tried not to feel, the more her body reacted to him.

"Stop," she hissed without a hint of conviction. It didn't help that her pelvis was rocking against his hand.

His thumb stroked her clit as his fingers continued to stimulate her to the edge of orgasm. Realizing that she was fighting a losing battle, she leaned into him, giving him permission to take her over that edge and beyond.

"Yes," Luke whispered encouragingly as Lorelai's body spasmed to the fierce and unforgiving rhythm he set. "Yes," he said again, kissing her temple, cradling her as she came down from her high.

"God," she choked out. "What do you do to me?"

He struggled to turn her lax frame in his arms, bringing her face to his and kissing her hungrily. The fly of her jeans remained open. He could smell her arousal, and it was driving him insane with need. His hand dipped into her panties again, gathering up the new moisture and bringing it to his mouth.

Her dark eyes were glued to his lips as he tasted her. "I thought about you in the shower," she confessed.

"I can't stop thinking about you," Luke countered.

She rubbed her palms over his smooth cheeks, something she had been yearning to do since he stepped foot into her house. "Did you shave for me?"

The slight blush that formed on the apples of those smooth cheeks answered her question.

"I think we have a problem," Lorelai said quietly.

"I know we do."

"I think we need to stop."

"Don't think," Luke returned, kissing her again, pressing his tongue into her mouth and his groin into her hip.

"I can't help it," she pouted between kisses. "My brain won't shut off."

Luke lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, leaving her breathless with his kisses. When they reached the landing, he asked her with an arrogant smirk, "What were you saying?"

Her glassy eyes stared back at him as she searched her memory. "I like Tom Brokaw?"

He chuckled, crossing the threshold to her bedroom and kicking the door shut behind them.

She never called Jason that night.

_TBC…_


End file.
